


POETRY: Painfully Overt Expressions of Trauma, Regret and Yearning

by ivy_thalassa



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivy_thalassa/pseuds/ivy_thalassa
Summary: One-shot Nessian modern AUThey're in college and they take a writing class together...(It was meant to just be a simple short modern AU but ended up being inspired by Frozen and Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell)
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	POETRY: Painfully Overt Expressions of Trauma, Regret and Yearning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I was not feeling inspired to write my multi chapter fic, but I also wanted to procrastinate all my work (even though there's like 1 week of summer left oops) so I decided to write this little one shot!  
> I know it's a little rough & it wasn't beta read but I hope you guys enjoy it!

_A scream tears through my throat_

_Desperately I call out, not knowing what words have formed_

_I cry and yell and beg_

_For help, for mercy, for anything_

_And yet_

_My cries go unheard — though I did not think they were soundless_

_My tears go unseen — though I am sure I shed them_

_My pleas go unanswered — though I asked every deity_

_Throat hoarse, eyes shut, I am now trapped in a cage of my own design_

_But why would I want to leave?_

Nesta tore the sheet of college ruled lined paper from her notebook and was about to crumple it in her palm, but something made her decide to keep it. She folded it into quarters and slid it into her desk drawer, underneath her box of post-its.

It was a stupid habit of hers. This _writing_. She couldn’t let herself label it as poetry, although it was closest to that. It was just her way of releasing her emotions. She had no diary and had never drawn just for fun, like her youngest sister, Feyre.

She never showed anybody anything she’d written. Hell, she usually didn’t even reread it herself. But even though some (logical) part of her wanted to throw away the useless scraps of paper, some part of her was emotionally attached to them and clung on. It was ok, as long as they remained hidden.

Aside from these sheets of paper, Nesta was an all-around cold hearted bitch. Most people called her _Ice Bitch_ , though a few preferred to call her _Elsa_ or _Queen of Hearts_ (to indicate her lack thereof). Nesta didn’t hate her nickname.

Nesta was a junior at Prythian U and was the most feared student, thank you very much. No one cut her in line for lunch or the bathroom, no one dared to ask her for gum or pens, and no one ever talked to her in class. Clearly, her role as the big bad bitch had some advantages — namely, being able to concentrate in class and thus being able to keep up her scholarship. She was never late to class, not only because she always made sure to plan to arrive 5 minutes early but also because people scuttled out of her way. She could study in her dorm without having to worry about being disturbed. Even the loudest, cockiest dumbasses fell silent if she glared at them hard enough.

Sure, Nesta had no friends, but that didn’t matter. To be quite frank, it was for the best — friends demanded to go shopping or to go to lunch together, taking away from Nesta’s valuable study time. It was better this way. Nesta could work in peace without hurting anybody.

Well, except—

“Nesta?” her sister’s voice called from the other side of the door. Elain, a sophomore at Prythian U, was the only person who still bothered to talk to Nesta on a regular basis. In every way aside from looks, Elain was Nesta’s polar opposite: she was slightly shy at first, but was actually a complete social butterfly who was kind to everyone, even those she disliked. Somehow, she was friendly with everybody and everyone knew her by name — no matter their clique, major, or year. Her nickname had first been _Anna_ to contrast with Nesta’s, but she’d quickly grown into her own right and was occasionally called _Flower girl_ or _Sunshine_ , although most people preferred to use her actual name in case they accidentally offended Elain (not that they’d ever know if she’d been offended).

“Nesta,” Elain called again. “I know you’re awake. Can I come in?”

Nesta sighed and got up, opening the door to let her sister in.

Elain smiled at her. “I got you some breakfast.” She sat down on Nesta’s bed and handed her a paper bag and a to-go cup.

Nesta opened the bag to find three small blueberry muffins — her favorite.

“Thank you,” Nesta said stiffly before turning to her laptop.

“I know you’re really busy but can we please talk, just for five minutes?” Elain asked.

“Fine.” Nesta closed her laptop. It wasn’t as though she’d been working on anything anyway. “What’s new in your life, Elain?”

Elain’s face brightened. “Oh, I got a really good grade on my paper for botany and the professor told me he wanted me to get involved in his research this summer!”

“That’s great.”

“I know! I’m really excited about it. Oh, and I finally understand what’s going on in my sociology class because this guy offered to help me. He’s really smart… and cute…” Elain sighed.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “And is he single?”

“I think so? I see him hanging out with his group of friends sometimes— not that I’m stalking him — and there’s this one blond girl who he’s with alot but I think they’re just friends. I’m not sure.”

Nesta took a sip from the cup Elain had brought her. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Elain. Just ask him if he’s single and if he is, ask him out. Only an idiot would say no to you.”

“But I don’t even know if he likes me,” Elain protested.

“Well, he offered to help you, didn’t he? He probably likes you. People don’t just do things for strangers out of the kindness of their hearts,” Nesta replied.

“That’s not true!”

“I mean besides you, obviously. You’re one of a kind.”

Elain laughed quietly. “And what’s up with you, Nesta?”

Nesta shrugged one shoulder. “Same old stuff. I’m really busy with class. My midterm is coming up and I’m working on my applications for internships for the summer.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Elain encouraged.

Nesta shrugged again.

Elain, sensing that Nesta wanted to get back to work, declared, “I need to get going now but text me whenever you’re free, ok?”

Nesta nodded even though they both knew it was a lie. Nesta wouldn’t text Elain and they wouldn’t talk until next sunday morning, when Elain would bring Nesta her breakfast as an excuse to spend time with her.

“Bye.”

* * *

“Ok, for this writing project, you’re going to work in pairs. I want you to write from the heart in any style you like — verse, prose, essays, vignettes, first person, third person, anything at all. It just needs to share something important about you. It can be a memory or a lifelong struggle you’ve had, maybe a passion or intense emotion you felt at some point. It can even be just conveying who you are or how you experience the world or really anything you like — it just has to be YOU. I expect you to first write it individually, although you can ask your partner to help you brainstorm, and then afterwards, you should get them to give you feedback and suggestions on how to improve the piece. I know that most of you are shy about sharing you writing even though you’re all so talented, but this project will help you push your boundaries and also get helpful feedback,” her writing professor announced. Nesta had only even taken one writing class, and it was in the first semester of college, but she needed 2 semesters worth in order to fulfill her graduation requirements, so she had decided to get it over with. So far, it had been fairly simple and straightforward. They’d studied essay writing, personal narratives, and creative writing where sharing was optional — meaning Nesta never shared her writing. This project was a whole new ballpark.

“Because the purpose is to get new insight into your work and push your comfort zone, I will be assigning partners.”

The class groaned. Nesta did not react. It wasn’t like she had any friends she’d hoped to work with.

The professor began listing the paris of students she’d chosen: “Emma Stark and Lily Ming, Tyler Abbas and Isabela Gomez, Orion Laskaris and Anahita Saeli, Sofia Ivanov and May Huang, Nesta Archeron and Cassian Illyria, Alexandre Charpentier and Mateo Hernandez…”

Cassian turned out to be a muscular man with swirly black tattoos that lined his caramel-colored arms and long dark hair that he tied in a loose man bun. He also had a large grin, which told Nesta everything she needed to know about him — he was one of those jocks with an overinflated ego who was just taking the class due to the graduation requirement. He probably had a sports scholarship, unless he was so rich that he didn’t need one.

“So, Nesta, how do you want to do this?” Cassian asked.

He was seated across the table from her. Their laptops — both macbooks — sat between them.

“Do you already have an idea or do you want to brainstorm with me?” Cassian clarified.

Nesta was dreading this assignment — not only was it extremely open ended, but she also despised having to share her writing. No way was she going to spend more time than necessary with him.

“I already have an idea,” Nesta answered. She did have ideas although she had no plan.

“Okay great, me too,” he answered with a grin.

Nesta gave him a curt nod. “Ok, you work on yours and I work on mine, and then we can share the docs with each other.”

Cassian’s forehead wrinkled. “I feel like advice is better given in person. Can we meet up somewhere for coffee and discuss?”

Nesta debated it. On the one hand, she didn’t want to see him but on the other hand, in person advice _was_ usually better.

She crushed the fleeting thought of telling him that she preferred tea over coffee, and instead replied, “Okay.”

Cassian grinned. “Great. It’s a date.”

* * *

Despite Nesta informing him multiple times that it most definitely was NOT a date, Cassian still insisted on paying for her drink — a large chai.

They switched laptops. 

Cassian’s piece was a beautiful series of vignettes about self-image and self-worth. It brought the reader on his life’s journey — being a bastard born child, feeling like a burden to his seamstress single mom, his mother’s death, going through foster care, meeting his current friends, being used by someone close to him, opening up about his trauma, his funny and joyful mask that he wears now days.

“It’s poignant,” she told him sincerely.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I don’t know, I feel like it’s a little, like, sob story-ish. I’m not tryna get pity, you know? Maybe I should change-”

“No,” Nesta interrupted. “You did a great job with this. I like the way you wove the narrative together. You do need to stop using the word ‘very’ so often, though. And maybe describe the setting a little more in this scene.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh. Yeah, okay. Sure,” he cleared his throat and avoided her eyes.

Nesta knew the feeling.

Writing was somehow extremely intimate — more intimate than a lot of sex.

It was pouring your heart and soul onto a sheet of paper and providing a glimpse not only into your world, but also into how _you_ see it. Who you are, why you are this way, and what your existence is like — all laid bare for someone else.

Which was why Nesta pointedly stared at the wall and slowly took long sips from her cup as Cassian scrolled through her poem.

Nesta had used the poem she’d written the other day before Elain had arrived, as well as many of the other poems she’d accumulated in her drawer, as a starting point. She took those stream of consciousness writings and turned them into a poem that was just so _her_.

It explained that while being locked in a tower of ice might not be the most fun, it was better than the alternative — getting close to people only for them to disappoint you or die on you or cheat on you or try to assault you. No, it was better to build your own ice palace where you could be alone but be yourself. There was no need to worry about other people’s expectations or demands, no need to care about whether your actions reflected badly on them or hurt them. You couldn’t hurt anyone as long as you remained in your ice castle.

Cassian lifted his eyes from the screen.

“I know it’s a little rough,” Nesta said after Cassian had stared at her in silence for a few moments. “I’m trying to include a couple more metaphors, maybe make it a bit more structured.”

Cassian blinked. “I- No. Nesta, it’s so-” He cleared his throat. “It’s really, ah, powerful. And I know that term is overused,” he added hurriedly, “but your writing is just so raw and so… I don’t want to use the word perfect but it’s really genuine and expressive.”

He ran a hand through his hair — his dark, silky hair.

Nesta dared to meet his eyes as he announced quietly, “I think I just fell a little bit in love with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought!  
> Leave a comment & some kudos please!
> 
> Come talk to me on my Tumblr (@sayosdreams)


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